


Eventually

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: An Epic Love of Time and Space [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Feels, First Time, Humor, Peter is a bit slow, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter loves having a crew. It's just ... well, he didn't realize how much of a cramp it would put in his social life. </p><p>Of course, it might be his sudden obsession with <em>Gamora's</em> social life that's the real problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about this one, too.

It took him to weeks to notice the problem, which sadly was far from the most embarrassing part of the whole thing.

Bars weren't quite as fun now that he had to stay sober enough to keep Drax and Rocket from killing people, but he could usually get at least a couple of drinks under his belt and still stay relatively sharp. Gamora usually helped, but tonight she'd stayed back at the ship to babysit Groot.

"Come on, he was fine the last time we brought him," Peter had tried. He had no idea why he was so disappointed by the thought she wasn't coming – she was scarier than any of them with a couple of shots in her – but he'd stopped trying to figure his brain out a long time ago. "He sat at the bar and waved at all the waitresses. You remember – they loved him."

Gamora raised an eyebrow. "Drax pointed out that you shouldn't bring children to disreputable establishments."

Peter shot Drax a betrayed look, causing the warrior to hold up his hands in supplication. "I was simply making an observation, Quill. I do not even know if the small tree counts as a child."

Rocket poked his head out from underneath one of the Milano's control panels. "It's close enough. Kid or not, we've gotta start taking better care of the little guy."

Conceding that Rocket might have a tiny shred of a point, Peter held out his hands. "Then he'll be fine here on his own. I'll lock all the doors, leave the mixtape on – he'll be happy as a clam."

As far as Rocket was concerned, that was absolutely the wrong thing to say. "If you think—"

Gamora held up a hand to cut off the tirade. "It's okay, Rocket. I have no intention of listening to Quill in this moment." She shot Peter a pointed look. "We will take turns staying with Groot in these situations."

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. Technically, he was the official leader of the group, but Gamora overruled him when she had a better idea. Since that was most of the time, he'd learned not to argue. "Okay, fine. But why can't Rocket stay with him this time?"

"Because I was hoping for some intelligent company this evening," Gamora replied, "and Groot is the only one who qualifies."

Peter and Rocket, argument forgotten, spoke in unison. "Hey!"

Drax's brow furrowed, still a few minutes back in the conversation. "I still do not understand why you use Terran shellfish as the ideal for happiness." They'd tried having discussions about metaphors, to mixed success. "From what you have described, they do not seem to have emotions at all."

Peter sighed, accepting defeat. "I'll tell you later."

000

But that was then.

Now Peter had a few drinks in him – okay, maybe a few more than a few, but for some reason it had taken a little while to get back to the usual fun level – and he was feeling great. Drax and Rocket were involved in some kind of sing-along in the corner, and were apparently friendly enough with the regulars that punching one fellow into unconsciousness had led to nothing more serious than a round of laughter. If the guns didn't come out, they should be in for a pleasant evening.

Even better, a Stenth girl was cuddled up to him who seemed _dying_ to hear the story of how he helped save the universe. By the time he got to the swordfight – okay, so it wasn't _entirely_ accurate, but she seemed to like that better than either all the crashing or the dance-off – she'd dragged him into a dark corner and was busy trying to kiss him into unconsciousness.

(Not literally, though. That had happened to him once, and Peter was definitely not interested in a repeat performance.)

He had just enough brainpower left to wonder if Stenth had extra breathing orifices no one told him about when she ripped her mouth away from his. "You have a bed on your ship, right?" she panted. "We need a little privacy before I can show you just how _appreciative_ I am of your heroism."

Peter was nodding before his brain had gotten enough oxygen back to form coherent thought. "Yeah." She licked his neck, and thought scattered again. "Nice, big bed."

"Good." She ground her pelvis against his before moving away enough to let him stand. "Because we're both wearing _way_ too many clothes right now."

He staggered to his feet, not enough coherent thought left to even think about single entendres. He could still hear Drax and Rocket singing, but they were fine, right? He'd just take their weapons on the way out, and there was a good chance no one would be left dead.

A pretty good chance.

The thought sobered him up a little, and he scanned the bar to see if he could catch sight of Drax. The guy had been married before – he had to understand the need for a man to have a little "alone" time....

"What are you looking for?" That was the girl – Rina, Rika something. When he didn't answer, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. "Your friends will be fine."

"I'll only be a second." He could actually hear his libido cry as he pulled away from her. "Stay right there. I just have to go talk to a friend of mine." Then again, maybe it would be better to talk to Rocket – he could imagine "I need to get laid" would lead to a 20-minute discussion in Drax-speak. He'd have to pay the raccoon to give them some privacy, but he was drunk enough he hopefully wouldn't dicker too much. They'd make themselves scarce for a few hours, while he took Rina-or-Rika back to the Milano and....

Run straight into Gamora and Groot.

He turned back to the Stenth girl, a little desperate now. "Tell me you have a ship somewhere. A room. Anything."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You said you had a ship. Why can't we go back to that?"

"Er...." He wasn't sober enough for this discussion. "It's ... kind of occupied right now."

Rina-or-Rika was right back to sex kitten. "Then ask them to get lost for a few hours."

Peter tried to imagine how that might go, but it seemed so wrong he couldn't even get a picture of it in his head. It wasn't the same as asking Rocket and Drax. It just ... it wasn't.

He was just sober enough now to know not to say that, but not quite sober enough to realize that his other option wasn't much better. "She might stab me."

Peter only realized his mistake when the Stenth girl's eyes widened in horror, though thankfully she decided to restrain any potential injury to only a good hard slap. Peter stared after her as she stalked away, the thought belatedly occurring to him that he might be in a little bit of trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time, he had everything planned out.

It was Drax's turn to stay back with Groot, who wasn't quite talking yet but was definitely making sounds in the right direction. Thanks to an incredibly awkward discussion in which Peter was forced to BS his way through the origins of several common euphemisms for sex—

_Drax's brow lowered as he looked down at Peter's feet. "You are only willing to copulate with women who wear boots?"_

_"I shouldn't have said that." Peter had been trying to cut the metaphors out of his speech – it was that or get a Drax-induced headache constantly – but it was hard. It was so much easier to get people not to punch you when you used metaphors. "It's just what people call it."_

_"A metaphor." Drax considered this. "If not all of the men and women are wearing boots, it is an inaccurate metaphor."_

_Honestly, Peter had no idea why everyone got so upset about lying. It made things so much easier.  "See, that may be true now, but it was the cowboys who came up with it," Peter said, thinking quickly. "Back in the Old West, everyone wore boots. Even the women."_

_"Ah." Understanding filled Drax's face, and he nodded. "That makes sense."_

—Drax had promised that he and Groot would make themselves scarce if Peter brought a lady back to the Milano. Of course, he still had to get her out of there before anyone else came stumbling back, but that wouldn't be a hardship.

He picked one out as soon as they got to the bar, a cute little thing who had dreams of being a famous singer. She even had the good taste to appreciate his music, and soon they were both singing along to "The Pina Colada Song" (she was off key enough that he was pretty sure the music career wasn't gonna happen, but he wasn't about to say anything). She leaned closer as they got to the high notes – he really had to get her name at some point – smiling up at him like he was the greatest guy in the universe. She was warm, and smelled good, and he was _this_ close to closing the deal....

Until he made the mistake of glancing over at Gamora.

She wasn't about to get in his way. She wasn't even looking at him, in fact. She was too busy chatting up this big badoon guy, leaning in like the he was saying something fascinating. Peter couldn't make out what they were saying – of _course_ she'd gone to the opposite end of the bar – but it was clear from the look on the guy's face that he was flirting with her.

Peter couldn't see Gamora's face, but she definitely wasn't pulling a knife on the guy. _He'd_ gotten a knife pulled on him when he wasn't even trying anything – seriously, he wasn't – but this jerk was practically throwing himself at her and there wasn't even a _hint_ of violence.  

"Quill?" The girl had pulled off the headphones and was looking at him with concern. Damn it, he'd let himself get distracted. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." He flashed her his "you can trust me" smile as he shifted his attention back to her. "Have I mentioned that you have a beautiful voice, by the way? Because you do."

She started talking again, about some concert she was doing in a week – they'd be a few solar systems away by then, thankfully – and Peter tried hard to concentrate on her sparkling eyes and lips that were clearly made for kissing. But there were still no crashing sounds from Gamora's direction, which meant that she was still _listening_ to the guy.

Peter glanced back over, telling himself that he was just checking on a member of his crew. The guy was even closer now, but at least they were still clearly talking and hadn't yet moved on to the kissing portion of the evening. He forced his eyes back to the girl – hell, he still hadn't gotten her name yet – and told himself that _he_ should be getting things rolling on his end as well.

His stupid brain, however, was not in on the plan. It kept thinking about Gamora, pointing out that being raised as the assassin adopted daughter/prisoner of a genocidal psychopath probably hadn't given her a lot of time to practice things like flirting. I mean, she'd called him leaning in for a kiss "pelvic sorcery," and it hadn't even been in the general vicinity of his best move. Did she even know what the guy was trying for?

Of course, if he made a move and she didn't like it, he'd either get a knife to his throat or his body flipped over a table or something. She'd be fine.

Or he could make a move, and Gamora would like it.

"Quill?" Back in the world outside of his brain, the girl's eyes narrowed again. "Are you even listening?"

He did the smile again, firmly ignoring the fact that it felt like someone had dropped a lead weight in his stomach. "Of course I am. You have such a passion for music."

It took a second, but her expression smoothed out and she started talking again. He slapped his brain for letting himself get so distracted, reminding it that there was no way it would be getting sex tonight if it didn't start behaving itself.

Gamora wouldn't try and take the guy back to the ship, would she? Because Drax would probably get out of the way for them, too, and then they would be having sex in _his_ ship. Of course, if he got off his ass and closed the deal with this girl, that space would already be occupied....

But then the guy could take Gamora back to _his_ ship. Or his room. And she would be off having sex somewhere and Peter wouldn't even know where she _was_.

And why the hell was he even worrying about this?

Desperate now, he leaned in and grabbed a kiss while the girl was mid-sentence. She made a pleased little sound and pulled him closer, and his body buzzed happily and tried very hard to get the rest of him involved.

Besides, what could he even do? If he tried to go over there and defend Gamora's honor, she'd punch him. If he tried to break up a make out session, she'd punch him. And on top of that, probably leave with the guy even if she hadn't planned on it in the beginning. Then he'd have to actually _watch_ her walk away.

Damn it, she really should have tried to kill the guy by now. Why were there no crashing noises coming from that side of the bar?

The girl ripped her mouth away from his. "If you're not into this," she snapped, "you should really just say so."

Quill, cursing himself for being the world's biggest moron, pulled himself away. "I know, I know. I'm so sorry. I'm just ... there's just something I have to do."

She made an indignant noise as he stood up, picked up the chair next to him, and turned around to find the biggest, meanest looking guy on this side of the bar. Once he found him, an aakon who looked like he was about to lose at cards, Peter then took a moment to apologize to his body for all the bruises it was about to suffer.

Then he slammed the chair hard against the guy's back. Naturally, the guy then stood up and turned around, his expression making it clear that he had every intention of killing Peter and tearing his body into tiny little snack-sized pieces. It was all part of the plan.

Admittedly, Peter wasn't all that great at making plans.

"Guardians!" he shouted, not ashamed of the fact that his voice sounded panicked. Gamora wouldn't come if she didn't think it was serious. "Help!"

As he picked up another chair, he heard Gamora swear loudly and start shoving people out of the way to get to him. Even as he saw the aakon's fist aim straight for his head, Peter couldn't stop himself from smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

"I should have let him kill you." Gamora's voice was a sigh as she maneuvered Peter towards his bunk. "It would save me the effort of having to do it later. Cheating at cards, Quill? Really?"

"Didn't mean to," Peter muttered, annoyed that the lie wasn't coming nearly as easily as it was supposed to. He told himself it was because his body was one massive bruise – the Aakon had been _really_ annoyed – and not because he was distracted by the reminder of how good it felt to have her standing this close to him. "It's instinct. Can't help it."

When they got to the bed she shoved him off her shoulder, glaring down at him as he gingerly sat down. "No more card games. You get in less trouble when you stay by the bar."

Relief that she'd bought the story made him agree a little too fast. "Done." He could practically see the suspicion flicker to life in her eyes, and he pushed ahead to keep her from asking another question. "Hey, I don't want to annoy you enough that you don't come save me one of these days."

Her expression smoothed out again, changing into a combination of amusement and frustration that he was starting to become a little more fond of than was at all healthy. "If you had waited too much longer, I likely wouldn't have been around to save you now."

The confirmation twisted his stomach, hard, and in combination with the pounding headache he had going his body had just about had it. He swallowed bile, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, and Gamora rolls her eyes and looks for something he can puke in. "Perhaps I was wrong about the bar."

Peter held up a hand to stop her. "I'm fine." He hadn't even had a _glass_ , damn it, too intent on setting up and then completely destroying his chances with the girl whose name he never got around to asking. It was one more thing his body was pissed at him for, along with the fact that he'd chosen to get the crap beaten out of him rather than have sex with an attractive woman.

She gave him a skeptical look. "Of course you are. I could tell just by looking at you."

"Rocket's been teaching you sarcasm." He touched his fingers lightly to his black eye, wincing. "Heaven help us all."

That got a hint of a smile, cool fingers closing around his as she pulled his fingers away from his eye. "I would have thought that even you would have figured out by now that it hurts when you poke at a bruise."

Peter felt the corners of his own mouth curve upward, his chest warm. "I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that I've got a little bit of an issue with learning."

"Once or twice. I'm pretty sure I was trying to kill you at the time."  He told himself her voice sounded affectionate as she turned away. "Now, do you think you can avoid getting into trouble while I go get the med kit? The bruises will not help you the next time you go hunting for one of your starry-eyed conquests."

"I wasn't—" The words slipped out of his mouth without checking in with the rest of him. When his brain caught up he froze halfway through the lie, trying to figure out where the hell he'd been going with this.

She turned to look at him, expression curious.  "Drax seemed to think you had gone out tonight seeking a sexual partner."

"He got confused." Once again his mouth took over, and this time his brain decided "to hell with it" and played along. It was just ... he didn't want Gamora thinking about sex right now, particularly all the sex she could be having with Mr. Tall Dark and Scaly if her idiot crewmate hadn't tried to get himself killed. "We're still working on the metaphors."

Gamora raised an eyebrow. "What metaphor did he confuse?"

"Lady Luck." This lie came even faster, his reserves kicking back in. "Card game, you know."

She considered this. "At least your people have the good sense to make one of their deities a woman." Then she turned back, disappearing down the corridor. "That doesn't mean, however, that I was wrong about the bruises. I will get the med kit."

While she was gone, he carefully laid himself down on the bunk, apologizing one more time to all his various injured bits. His body responded with fresh jabs of pain every time he so much as breathed wrong, pointing out that he would never have sex _again_ if he kept things up like this.

His brain pointed out that, while his body wasn't entirely wrong, Gamora was _here_ instead of having sex with the Badoon guy. His body countered by asking if he was prepared to go through all this _again_ the next time someone hit on her. And the next time.

And the next one.

It was on that incredibly depressing thought that Gamora walked back in, eyes narrowing again when she saw Peter's face. "You look terrible. Do you have a head injury?"

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe." Then he sighed. Yondu would kick his ass if he was here right now. "You could have pulled a knife on him, you know. It would have solved everything."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

Peter shook his head, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. "Never mind. Just next time I tell you that you shouldn't try and kill everyone who says hi to you, remind me of this moment."

That didn't seem to mollify her at all. "You definitely have a head injury. You're making even less sense than usual." She sat down next to him, gingerly running her fingers over his head as she searched for a possible concussion.

Peter closed his eyes and resisted the urge to lean into her. "Did your dad do this?" he asked, trying to distract himself. "When you fell off the watchtower that other kid dared you to climb?"

Her fingers stopped moving. "I didn't think you'd remember that story," she said finally, voice careful.

Peter opened his eyes, not sure what to say. He was pretty sure he remembered every story Gamora had ever told him, but that wasn't the kind of thing you admitted. "It was a cool story." He glanced over at her. "Tell me another one?"

She hesitated, something in her face that Peter couldn't read. Then, after a few beats of silence, she started into a story about the first time she picked up a sword.

Peter soaked in every word, trying very hard not to think about anything else.  


	4. Chapter 4

Peter woke to the thunk of Groot's pot being set down on the edge of his bunk, followed almost immediately by the feel of Rocket's finger jabbing him in the shoulder. "Quill, this is an intervention."

He let his eyes stay closed, hoping against hope that he could somehow manage to sneak out five to 10 more minutes of sleep. He'd had a busy night last night, what with getting the crap beaten out of him and all. "I know, I know. No more card games for me."

Rocket made a derisive noise. "I still have no idea how you got her to buy that story." When Peter's eyes snapped open at that, he smirked. "Yeah, I thought that would get your attention."

Peter immediately pushed himself up into a sitting position, his "honest and trustworthy" face firmly in place by the time he was upright. "What? It's time to get up. I'm getting up."

Even Groot looked disbelieving. "Mmmmm Groooo."

"You said it, pal. If he's this bad a liar, I have no idea how he survived without us."

Peter glared at them both. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent liar." When that had absolutely no effect, he sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Except in the morning. I'm not so great at it in the morning."

"Another thing you are not great at is making life-preserving decisions," Rocket shot back, folding his arms across his chest. A second later, Groot did the same thing. "Any chance you could let me in on the _real_ reason you decided to spend last night antagonisticating big, angry people who could break you like a toothpick? Because as much as I enjoy getting to shoot people, it's gonna get kind of annoying if I have to keep saving your ass instead of finishing my drink."

Peter turned his head so he could look Rocket square in the eye. An important part of lying was acting like you genuinely believed every word that came out of your mouth. "I told you, I was playing cards with the guy. Reflexes made me slip some cards into my cuff that I shouldn't have, and the guy figured out what I was doing."

Rocket's brow lowered. "Okay, I'll say this slowly in the hopes that it will sink through the thick wall of stupid you've got going inside your brain region. The card game was at this table." He unfolded his arms, gesturing to emphasize the point. Groot kept up the 'disappointed parent' pose for both of them. "When you screamed like a little troll-baby, you were standing _behind_ the guy who was trying to kill you. Over here." The corresponding jab was just a touch more violent than Peter was entirely comfortable with. "At the same table with a big-eyed hairless girl that looked like she wanted to kick you in the testicles. The same girl who you'd been sniffing at since pretty much the first second you walked in."

"How the hell did you notice all that?" Peter asked, too surprised by the breakdown to watch what was coming out of his mouth.

Groot shot him a look that clearly questioned his intelligence. "Mmmm Grooo."

Rocket glanced over at him. "Thank you." Then he turned back to Peter. "I can build a bomb with a box of junk and five minutes of lead time. Tracking your stupid isn't much of a challenge."

"It's not that. It's just ..." Peter held up a hand. "Why would you bother?"

Rocket raised an eyebrow. "I like to know where my backup is. The point I was trying to make here, though, is that I _really_ hope you didn't try and get yourself killed just because Gamora was over in the corner with some—" He stopped, expression shifting into an incredulous, long-suffering look. "Seriously?" He rubbed his paws against his eyes. "I _knew_ I didn't really want to know. Damn it, Quill."

Peter was horrified at the insinuation. "Don't even pretend you could just read that on my expression. I have a _much_ better poker face than that."

"You could have a terrible poker face. I could practically see the little hearts flying around your head."

"Take that back. I'm the _king_ of lying."

"To yourself, maybe."

"Mmmm Groooo."

"Not helping, Groot!"

 "Hey, if the—"

"What is this yammering?"

Peter, Rocket and Groot all turned to Drax, who had the look of a man who was conscious a good deal earlier than he'd meant to be. The sight of him made Peter realize that, if they were loud enough to wake him up, they were also probably loud enough that Gamora could be listening. "Nothing, sorry," he said hurriedly, clamping a hand over Rocket's mouth. "Just a disagreement about—ow!"

As he yanked his hand away, Rocket finished the sentence. "About the fact that genius here got himself beat up last night so Gamora wouldn't have sex with some lizard guy." He glared at Peter. "Next time you try to do that and our lives aren't at risk, I'm taking a finger."

Peter glared right back at him. "And if Gamora hears about any of this, I'm revoking your bomb privileges," he said through clenched teeth.

Drax's brow furrowed. "Why do you not wish Gamora to know you are courting her?"

"Because I'm—" Peter's voice failed him as he realized what Drax was saying. His eyes widened. "What?"

Drax still looked perplexed. "You are not doing it well, though. You should have challenged the other suitor to single combat, and if you were particularly skillful you would receive the honor of fighting your intended herself." His expression softened with memory. "Hovat was most skilled. Being beaten by her was an honor."

Peter cleared his throat, feeling profoundly uncomfortable for a moment. "That's ... really sweet, Drax. But I'm not—" Glancing toward the cockpit, he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "I'm not courting Gamora. I don't ... I don't do that."

He knew the words were true – probably more so than anything else he'd said that morning – but it didn't stop the weird itch he could suddenly feel beneath his skin. Normally, it meant he was about to screw up a job in a potentially fatal manner, but there was no reason it should be showing up now.

And it had nothing to do with the sudden sinking feeling in his chest. None.

This time, Rocket, Groot and Drax all gave him their own patented versions of the "you're an idiot" look. "Then why were you willing to risk getting yourself killed to keep her from going off with that guy, hmm?"

Drax nodded. "He makes a good point, Quill."

"Mmmm Groooo."

Peter looked between the three of them, running through every possible answer he might be willing to say out loud. None of them were the slightest bit believable.

Eventually, Rocket sighed and patted him on the knee. "Look, just ... don't get dead over this, okay? You're the only one who knows how to break up a fight."  

Drax nodded. "Yes. I do not wish you dead. And if you would like, I will help you with your secret courtship."

Groot gave him a supportive smile. "Mmmm Grooo."

"Thanks." Peter sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I think."


	5. Chapter 5

Shopping on Knowhere was always exciting, at least if you considered the constant potential for death to be your favorite weekend activity.

Still, the prices were good if you knew how to bargain – Peter and Rocket were the best at it, though privately Peter thought he deserved more points because he could get deals _without_ pointing a gun at anybody – and there were some key bits of merchandise you just couldn't get anywhere else. He couldn't even identify half the things Rocket was buying, Groot sitting on his shoulder (he'd gotten out of the pot a little while ago, but the little guy was still way too short to keep up on his own). Gamora and Peter were restocking their weapons supply, and ... actually, he hadn't seen Drax in a few minutes. He should probably check on that at some point.

Now, though, Gamora was looking at an entire table full of knives, an almost soft expression on her face, and Peter couldn't make himself walk away long enough to go find Drax. "You don't usually see craftsmanship like this on Knowhere," she murmured, voice admiring as she picked up a small dagger and tested the balance. "You should carry more knives, Quill. This could fit easily in your boot without interfering with the rockets."

He shrugged. "You know I'm more of a gun man." Gamora and Drax were both masters of the sharp and shinies, but Peter's focus tended to be on staying away from the other person's weapon and shooting them when the opportunity arose. It wasn't as pretty, true, and sometimes got him in trouble in close fights, but it had kept him alive this long. "My luck, I'd accidentally stab myself in the eye."

She smiled a little, like he'd hoped she would, and the sales guy got that pleased look that meant he'd thought he'd found a sucker. "You are not confined to a single weapon, Quill, and a weapon like this might assist you in getting out of some of those 'tight spots' you so often insist on getting into." She handed it to him. "And you know that I would show you some knife fighting techniques, if you asked. Thankfully for your continued existence, you are not so unteachable as you first led me to believe."

"Yeah, but that still leaves room for a lot of unteachableness. I don't know if you getting frustrated and stabbing me in the eye is any better." He turned the dagger over in his hand, trying hard not to think of Drax's courtship-as-combat spiel. The guy would probably consider knife training the equivalent of candlelight and a dozen roses.

Not that Gamora would know that. And if he could keep Drax out of the way - the guy had already said he'd help, hadn't he - it would give Peter more time with her. Just the two of them....

Oh no. Oh, no no no. He'd had a little talk with his sense of self-preservation and was sane now, or at least close enough to his usual level not to be thinking about things like _courtship_. Peter Quill did not _do_ courtship, which meant that there was absolutely no reason for him to be worrying about what Gamora did with her spare time. Or, for that matter, who she did it with.

(The fact that they hadn't gone to a bar since the Night Of Peter's Terrible Decision Making was neither here nor there. They nearly had, once, but Peter had found a bounty at the last minute and talked everyone into chasing after him. Purely coincidentally, of course).

His brain chose that moment to point out that it had been too long since his mouth had actually formed words, and he looked up to find her staring at him with a mildly concerned expression. "It isn't that difficult a question, Peter," she told him.

He flashed her his automatic smile, trying to cover. "Thinking too hard. You know I'm not that good at it."

She raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "Actually, I've found that your level of skill at thinking is often determined by what you are thinking about."

He wondered how she'd react if she knew that she was one of the subjects that turned Peter Quill into a complete idiot. Which, you know, was an extremely good reason for him to change the topic. "Sadly, I'm pretty sure knife fighting is still not one of those things." He flipped the dagger around to hand it back to her, the words "Thank you, but no" hovering on the tip of his tongue. "So yeah, I'd love to."

Wait, what?

"Good." Gamora's lips curved upward just a fraction as she took the knife from Quill, handing it to the sales guy. "I wish to purchase this. Quote me a fair price or I'll rip out your throat."

As the man's eyes bugged out, Peter held up a reassuring hand. "She doesn't mean that. She'll probably just punch you or something." Then he turned back to Gamora. "I didn't mean that."

She went very still, expression closing off. "You don't want me to teach you?" she asked quietly.

"I..." Peter stopped, his chest doing something weird at the sight of her "hiding from horrible feelings face." She'd looked so relaxed and happy a second ago, and he'd gone and ruined it. "No. I meant about the throat ripping." At a squeak from the sales guy, Peter shrugged. "Sorry. It could happen."

Gamora's expression had eased at that, and along with it the knot in Peter's chest unwound for absolutely no reason. The sales guy hurried through the haggling - honestly, if he was this freaked out by one threat from a deadly assassin then Knowhere was definitely not the market for him - and when it was done she handed the knife to Peter. "There. You will start with this, and you can add to your collection later if you choose."

Peter just stared at it. "You're giving it to me?"

"I believe I just explained that," Gamora said patiently, hand still outstretched with the knife handle pointed at Peter.

He swallowed. They didn't do birthdays on the Milano - they all had too much baggage to risk it - so the last person who'd actually given him something had been ... well, had been his mother. The idea that _Gamora_ , of all people, would be the one who'd want to change that.... "Why?"

Her lips curved upward again. "Because the idea pleases me."

There was pretty much only one thing he could possibly do after that. Throat tight, he took the knife out of Gamora's hand - always better to lessen the chance of stabbing, accidental or otherwise - then pulled her into a hug. She stiffened rather than punch him - an amazing sign of progress, then tightened her arms around him in a  brief, hard squeeze. It didn't last very long, and there was nothing at all sexy about it, but Peter could have stayed there forever.

Yeah, he was completely screwed.

When they broke apart, she squeezed his shoulder. It made him feel all warm and tingly. "We'll start tomorrow," she said. "I can't promise Rocket won't mock you, but I know Groot and Drax will be supportive."

He smirked by sheer instinct, the bulk of his brain still busy processing the decision he was about to make. "Rocket always mocks. That's how I know he loves me."

She smiled, mouth opening to say something. Then Drax appeared, calling out to Gamora and holding up what appeared to be an enormous battle ax for her inspection, and she gave Peter an apologetic look before hurrying over.

He watched her go, feeling like someone had hit him over the head. "Shit," he breathed. "I have to figure out how to court Gamora."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally the only reason I keep adding chapters to this fic is that people keep asking for them. See kids, reviews and comments really do make a difference.

It wasn’t easy to get Drax alone, especially since he only had until tomorrow to do it. Every time Peter tried to signal him that they needed to talk without one of the other crewmembers – even Groot was too much of a blabbermouth – the big guy unsurprisingly failed to get even the general idea of the hint.

“Is there something wrong with your neck, Quill? You are twitching oddly.”

“Why are you waving your hand? Is there an insect of some sort you wish me to kill?”

“You do appear to have some sort of neck spasm. There is no shame in asking for assistance.”

Everyone else was asleep by the time Peter got his chance, catching the big guy was alone in his bunk sharpening his blades. He didn’t sneak, because there was nothing that made a person more obvious than trying to sneak, but he did try to sort of sidle in as casually as possible. “Hey, Drax, got a second? I kind of have a couple of questions to ask you.”

Drax nodded. “I have many seconds, Quill. Did you finally wish to seek help for whatever is wrong with your neck?”

Peter bit back a sigh. “No, I fixed that. I … well, I kind of….” He could feel the words trying to run away from him, back into a nice safe corner where they didn’t have to deal with the disaster this was no doubt going to turn out to be, and so he shoved them out as fast as he could. “How do you do that whole courtship thing?”

Sheer happiness flooded Drax’s face, his smile big enough that it probably should have hurt. “You are finally courting G—“

The rest of the sentence was muffled when Peter slapped a hand over Drax’s mouth, listening anxiously for any sign that Gamora might have woken up. Drax was a good guy when he wasn’t trying to kill you, but when he was happy you might as well hand him a loudspeaker. “ _Secret_ courtship, remember? I want to try and court Gamora in a very quiet way that we absolutely don’t talk about where she might be able to hear.”

Drax’s eyes frowned at Peter at that, as did the rest of him when Peter pulled his hand away. “That is not a proper way to court a warrior like Gamora. I thought the courtship was secret only when you were being stupid about it.”

Peter scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to decide if it was possible for this to get any more embarrassing. “Well, I kind of don’t want her to pull a knife on me again.”

Now Drax looked curious. “Again? What did you do?”

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing.” Why did everyone seem to think the whole knife thing was his fault? He hadn’t even been putting the moves on her, unlike _some_ other people who shall remain nameless. Even now, the fact that Gamora _didn’t_ pull a knife on that guy was a twist to the gut. “I was maybe, possibly, leaning a little, but that was _it_. I swear.”

Peter was alarmed as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing that he would now be required to explain what exactly he meant by leaning, but Drax didn’t ask. Instead, his expression went solemn. “Leaning is not the first step in the courtship process, Quill. Ideally, the first step is to support her in battle against a foe of her choosing.”

Peter felt weirdly relieved. “I’ve already done that.”

“Yes.” Drax looked patient. “But had you done so before the leaning occurred?”

Peter winced, remembering how he’d told her that his reasons for stopping Drax from killing her had been purely practical. He’d thought they had been, at the time – he was really good at lying to himself like that. “Not exactly.”

Drax nodded, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting. It was kind of surreal, listening to him doing the explaining instead of trying to explain something for him. “Now that you have, you can move on to the next step. To officially state your interest in courting Gamora, you should present her with a weapon worthy of her skills. For Hovat, I gave her a set of hand axes so sharp that they sliced metal as if it were bread.” His expression softened. “She was very fond of them.”

Peter felt a strange, warm tingle of something in his chest as he reached down and pulled the knife Gamora had given him out of his boot. He’d had it tucked there since pretty much the moment she’d bought it for him, and when he pulled it out the absence felt more noticeable than the blade ever had. “Gamora, er … she kind of gave me this.” He held it out to show Drax. “She’s going to give me knife lessons so I don’t stab myself in the eye with it.”

Drax carefully took the blade, not commenting on the fact that Peter had to force his fingers to let go. He handled it gently, a small smile on his face. “Then you are better off than I thought. Gamora has chosen to court you.”

Peter’s stomach flipped at the thought, an equal measure of panic and giddiness. Okay, so there might have been more giddiness than panic, but that was pretty worrying all on its own. “We can’t be sure of that,” he said hurriedly, trying to comfort himself with the reminder that he had never blushed in his entire life. Odds were he wasn’t going to suddenly start now. “Gamora’s people probably have different courting habits than yours.”

“While that is true, I have spoken to Gamora enough to know that she thinks as a warrior does.” He handed the knife back to Quill, an alarming sort of understanding in his eyes. “If she had thought you were weak, she might have forced you through training in order to increase our collective skills in battle. The fact that she asked if you wished to be trained, and presented you with a blade as fine as this, means that she is offering her time and skills to you as a gift between warriors. It is a thing to be cherished, friend Quill.”

Peter’s throat was tight, his eyes stinging in a way he most definitely pretended wasn’t happening, and he scrubbed his hand across his mouth in order to by the time needed to wrestle some level of control back into place. “I will.” His voice was rough. “But what should I be doing? She might… She still might not see this as courtship, but….”

He wanted to. Even though he was going to probably screw this up six ways to Sunday, and probably wreck the only family he’d had in pretty much forever, he really, really wanted to. More than he could remember wanting anything in a long time.

Well, at least the fact that he was an idiot wasn’t much of a surprise.

Drax, thankfully unaware of Peter’s internal monologue – the big guy’s version of motivational speeches usually involved accidental bodily injury – clapped him on the shoulder.  “You will respect the gift she is giving you by being a good student, and show off your own fighting prowess where she will not be too distracted by enemies to appreciate it. We will move on to the later steps when you are ready for them.” Drax’s brow lowered in thought. “Human’s skin is very thin. Perhaps we should find you armor for the later steps.”

Peter decided it was best not to ask.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously folks, this is all for you. You are literally keeping this fic alive.

Peter usually slept pretty lightly – a necessary life skill when you grew up among people who might suddenly decide to eat you – but because of that he’d also trained himself to be able to drop off at any moment. His mom had said that your brain had to go to sleep before the rest of the body would follow, and normally Peter was excellent at making himself stop thinking.

(Not that he would admit that out loud anywhere Rocket could overhear, of course. There was no way he was handing the raccoon that kind of ammunition.)

But, as previously established, he was absolutely lousy at making himself stop thinking about _Gamora_. His brain spent the rest of the night in an endless loop that started with worrying about screwing up with Gamora, worrying that being with her had transformed his brain enough that this whole courting thing was even an option, and worrying about what he’d do if he did everything right and she still wasn’t interested. He’d always thought a broken heart was just an exaggeration, but from the way his chest ached every time he tried to imagine the possibility he couldn’t be sure. 

(This whole “feelings” thing was absolutely terrifying. He had no idea why so many people got so excited about it.)

With all of this happening, sleep was just about as unlikely as the Milano crew going a week without bending the law a little. After awhile, Peter stopped trying.

000

The next morning, Gamora gave him a concerned look. “You look terrible, Quill.” She’d beaten him to the open space she and Drax had requisitioned for a combat practice area, wearing her usual training gear and generally looking more amazing than Peter’s sleep-deprived brain was prepared to deal with at the moment. “Are you ill?”

The temptation of the excuse dangled in front of him, but as fond as he normally was of procrastination it wouldn’t actually help him in this case. He shook his head. “I’m fine.” She shot him disbelieving look, laying her hand against his forehead, and his brain shorted out enough that a little too much honesty came out. “I just didn’t sleep much.”

Now she looked confused. “Why?” She stepped back, the concern returning. “You never have trouble sleeping.”

He floundered for a second, trying to make his brain come up with a lie he could safely back up, when Drax’s words from the night before came back to him. _Respect the gift she has given you._

Peter took a deep breath. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

She gave him a curious look, then her expression softened. “I didn't think you worried about anything that couldn't potentially kill you.”

He could say more – should probably say more – but he’d used up all his bravery for the morning. So instead, he smiled. “I think we both know you could kill me without breaking a sweat.”

She laughed. “True. Fortunately for you, I'm far more interested in keeping you alive.”

Shaking off the ridiculous burst of happiness the comment gave him – it was probably embarrassing how easy he was – he followed her to the center of the training pad. She turned to face him, lifting her hand and showing him the side of her closed fist. “Since you had such a troubled sleep, it's probably best to focus only on technique today. Holding your hand like this will give you a strong grip on the knife, and allow you to put more force behind the attack.”

Peter matched her grip, trying hard to project “good student” with every fiber of his being. “I thought you’d want to hold it more like a sword.”

Gamora shook her head. “When you have a knife, you want to attack the other person’s body rather than their weapon. Even if the other person is wielding a knife, you will have far more luck slicing the tendons in their wrist in order to get them to drop it rather than hitting their knife with your own. Most of the time, though, a knife is best used to attack vital areas in the hopes of ending a physical altercation quickly.”

He thought about his dagger. “Stabbing them in the chest wouldn’t necessarily do it. Even if the blade was longer, I’d still have all those ribs to go through.”

“Exactly.” She relaxed her fist, moving her fingertips to her throat.  “But unless they have armor here, the front of the neck is unprotected in most species. An injury there is also among the most quickly fatal, even if it is not precise.”

Realizing something, Peter gently swung his fist around until the side of it rested against Gamora’s throat. Her skin was warm, shifting slightly with each breath, and Peter had to move his hand back just a little in order to not let himself get desperately distracted. “Like that?”

“That is one possibility.” When she smiled this time, it had danger in it. Seeing it, Peter’s brain made a note to spend the next several weeks giving serious thought to determining which of Gamora’s smiles made him weakest in the knees. “But striking such a blow in an actual fight would be far from that simple.”

From there they went into some basic hand-to-hand fighting techniques meant to work best with a knife, moves and counterstrikes designed to target the most effective places to stab an opponent. Though it varied by species – with Skrulls, for example, it depended entirely on what form they had shifted into, and with Amebids the best you could hope for was to pop them like a balloon – in general it was best to aim for the soft, squishy bits. The eye was an obvious choice – if for no other reason than it would really screw up their ability to fight – as was the groin, but Gamora also said that under the armpit could cause them trouble.

Suddenly, she swept his leg, catching him and rolling them both so that she had him pinned down on the mat. “Though a knife can be useful when you’re both standing,” she said, smirking down at him, “it’s especially useful in even closer combat situations such as this.”

Peter wasn't capable of speech for a few seconds – if anyone asked, he'd say he got the wind knocked out of him – then he forced himself to shift just enough to make it slightly less obvious that his brain was thinking about anything but combat at the moment. If he tried to put the moves on her now, or even let himself look like he wanted to, it would ruin everything. "Any chance you could teach me that move?" he asked, proud of himself that he only sounded a little bit strangled.

The smirk turned into a smile, bright enough to blind a man, and this time it was a rush of messy, lovey-dovey _feelings_ that swamped him enough to short his brain out for a few seconds. "Possibly for an advanced class," she said, and Peter's ridiculous heart let himself imagine she sounded pleased by the idea. "Though you're welcome to join in the regular sparring sessions that Drax and I use to practice."

Seeing the opportunity for safe banter that would allow his brain to stop thinking about feelings for a little bit, Peter leapt at them. "I am definitely not ready to try combat training with Drax," he said quickly, a far less dangerous sentence than "I'm literally doing all of this so I can spent more one-on-one time with you." "I still have to sit down and recover for a few minutes after one of his hugs."

"True." She eased back just a fraction, voice suddenly more businesslike. If Peter had been less distracted, he might have realized that was because she'd been inadvertently leaning closer to him the whole time. "Now, your opponent has you pinned down like this, and is rearing up to strike." She moved her arm back, miming holding knife. "How do you keep them from stabbing you?"

It took Peter six tries to get the answer right. Luckily, Gamora was a surprisingly patient teacher.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to you I thought this fic was doornail dead, but reviews can have absolutely miraculous powers at times. I also have the last two chapters planned out - I'm as shocked as you are, if not more so - and I swear to you all on the heads of all my original novels that I'll have them both up before June 1.

Courting, it turned out, was _awesome_.

At least, courting Gamora was - if he tried it with anyone else, Peter was pretty sure he'd be completely bored right now. Because courting required that you pay a hell of a lot of attention to just one person, and the only thing you got out of it was the chance to be _with_ that one person. A year ago, that would have seemed like a sucker's bet to Peter.

But this was _Gamora_. She was sneakily funny, and even though she could absolutely kick Peter's ass she was a surprisingly patient teacher. He loved hearing her stories, and he loved watching her face when it was his turn to tell her stories. When he made her smile, and especially when he made her laugh, he felt more of a sense of accomplishment than he did those rare, precious times people referred to him as Star-Lord with a straight face.

It was also _exhausting_. Not the knife training so much - being a semi-heroic space mercenary kept a guy in pretty decent shape - but it wasn't easy constantly beating his libido back with a whip and a chair. _Everything_ seemed to set him off - the line of her throat, her smile, the way she'd roll her eyes at him, all of it. But if he made a move it would screw everything up, and the idea of trying to scratch the itch with anyone else made him want to throw up.

So he kept himself in line, made Gamora smile as often as he could, and started looking for armor that would fit him. He might not _need_ it for step two of this whole courting thing, but it was best to be careful. It was dumb, but Peter was happier than he could ever remember being.

Later, he realized he should have seen that as a warning sign.

OOO

"This Uhura," Gamora asked, spinning out of the way of the fake knife stab he attempted and throwing a fake elbow at his throat, "she was in charge of talking to people?"

Peter ducked, trying for another fake stab to Gamora's stomach. "Yeah, because she was one of the smartest people on the whole ship." There had been "Star Trek" reruns on sometimes when he'd gotten home after school, and though they hadn't been his favorite Gamora seemed fascinated by them. He felt no shame about rewriting the episodes a little – he was sure if the writers had ever met someone like Gamora, they would have let Uhura kick all the ass she wanted. "Pretty much the only person who was smarter was Spock, and he was terrible at talking to people."

Gamora considered this as she knocked his arm out of the way. "If she was so impressive, why didn't you name the ship after her? She seems like a worthy person to 'crush' on."

Peter flipped the fake knife around to try another angle of attack, a little breathless when she shot a pleased smile in his direction. "Remember, I named the ship when I was a _kid_ , and kids are kind of idiots by nature. Besides, Alyssa Milano was closer to my age."

"And she was the Boss," Gamora added, trying to twist the knife out of his hand.

Peter reversed the twist on her, just like Gamora had taught him. It was almost like a dance, really. "No, she was on..." He stopped, smiling a little when Gamora tugged him back. "Yeah, she was the Boss."

Gamora raised an amused eyebrow at how easily he moved closer again. "I know you this only a training session, Quill, but you're still supposed to at least pretend that I'm trying to kill you."

He grinned, jerking his arm back hard to pull her against him. “If you’ll remember, I had real trouble staying away even when you were trying to kill me.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Still she sounded fond as she twisted him around, attempting to bring him down with a surprising amount of gentleness. “Also, you should be trying to stab me.”

Gamora had taught him a counter specifically designed for this, so either she’d forgotten or she was setting him up for an easy counterstrike (or, third option, she was setting him up for some clever countermove, but since she wasn’t going to kill him that could be just as much fun). Deciding to take a chance on either of the last two options, he used his own falling weight to pull her down with him. “Don’t worry.” He was still grinning as he pressed the tip of the fake knife against a less-protected part of her stomach. “I’m definitely still trying to stab you.”

That got an even bigger smile than the knife flip. “You _have_ been paying attention.” There was some surprise in the words, which might have been insulting if there hadn’t been something soft and faintly uncertain just beneath the surface.

Peter recognized the feeling. Hell, for that matter he was _feeling_ the feeling, fragile and hopeful and kind of like he was melting from the inside out. “Of _course_ I’ve been paying attention,” he breathed, being way the hell too honest but not able to stop himself if he wanted to. “It’s _you_.”

He could see her eyes light up – the pleased light, not the flare that meant she wanted to stab something – and Peter felt his chest clench like someone actually had a fist around his heart. His gaze was locked with hers, and he lost all ability to breathe when he realized she was moving _towards_ him. Closer, closer....

She jerked back, suddenly shoving up and off him like he was on fire, and for a disorienting second Peter wasn’t sure what was happening. Then he was up like a shot, hurrying after Gamora and grabbing her wrist before she could disappear completely. “ _Wait._ ” His heart was pounding. “Gamora, listen....”

She pulled her arm out of his grip. “The lesson is over.” Her voice was strained, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m going out.”

 _No_. Peter felt sick. “Let me get my coat. I’ll go with you.”

Gamora let out a breath, expression turning into something quiet and sad. “I will be fine on my own. If you go out, you should look for one of your conquests. It's been a long time since you've had companionship.”

“’Companionship?’” He stared at her, incredulous. He’d tried so _hard_ , and it was clear she hadn’t even fucking _noticed_. “I’ve been with _you_. That’s plenty of companionship.”

Her expression closed off so fast he could practically hear the snap. “You have a... what did you call it? An itch. You should have it scratched.”

“I don’t want my _fucking_ itch scratched!” Honestly, Peter would have preferred she just stab him. It probably would have hurt less. “I want what Drax and his wife had!”

Shock ripped through Gamora’s expression, making it clear she really hadn’t had a clue what he’d been trying to do.

Hell.

Peter swallowed, pretty sure he was going to throw up. “Like, I don’t want the death thing, because we both know it would be me that went first and you could get another husband in about a minute and a half. But...” He inhaled shakily. “I want to fight with you over who’s stealing the bedcovers. I want to keep figuring out new ways to make you smile. I want you to let me take care of you when you’re sick, even though I suck at it. I want to still be making jokes about my sexy wife even when we’re both really old and gross. I want....” He let the words trail off, too many ways he could finish the sentence. “Drax... Drax said this was how his people courted.” And oh, it sounded so stupid when he said it out loud. “Warrior training.”

He finally risked meeting her eyes again, feeling like an asshole when he saw how wrecked she looked. She would have looked less messed up if he’d tried to punch her. “I....” She made herself inhale, voice as unsteady as he’d ever heard it. “I have to go.”

Then she turned and fled the ship.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I had thought was the next chapter sort of split itself into two chapters, so there will still be two more after this. I maintain my promise, however, that they’ll all be up by June 1.

Whenever he needed comfort, Peter had always turned to his mom’s tape. It didn’t matter if he was sad, or lonely, or scared – all he had to do was turn on the music and he felt better.

Now, though, it wasn’t working. He’d even tried “Brandy,” his mom’s favorite song and quite possibly the greatest piece of music ever written, but it kept making him think too much. He’d always pictured himself as the sailor, but this time he kept getting mad at the guy. Seriously, what was so great about the sea? It didn’t talk to you, or do things just to make you laugh, or miss you after you’d gone off for _several hours. Alone_.

Of course, it was a thousand times worse if she _wasn’t_ alone.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to think about anything. He even fastforwarded the tape, hoping another song would distract him, but it stopped on Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home To Me” which was just about the worst song _possible_ when you had a broken heart.

(Not that he’d known that, never having felt anything close to a broken heart in any kind of romantic sense. But two lines into the song – _If you ever change your mind, about leaving, leaving me behind_ – Peter felt a searing sense of pain and decided that Cooke was either a complete asshole, a genius, or both.)

Turning the tape off completely, Peter yanked the headphones off and pushed himself up into a sitting position. It was only then that he realized Drax and Rocket were standing in the doorway to his room, Groot on Rocket’s shoulder, and not one of them looked like they were about to insult him. In fact they looked like they might be theoretically worried about him.

Man, he must really look _pathetic._

Peter scrubbed his hands across his face, breathing slow and deep past the ache in his chest. “I take it you heard?”

Drax nodded, looking solemn. “I am sorry, Quill. The traditional endings to an unsuccessful courtship are either much alcohol or ritual death with your blade of choice. I do not wish you to die, so I hope you will choose alcohol.”

That was actually pretty sweet, in Drax-speak, but the thought of adding alcohol to the pit of misery already in his stomach was nauseating all on its own. If his mom’s tape hadn’t been enough to help him forget, alcohol sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.

“I’ll get back to you on that.” He knew he should get up, do _something_ to make it look less like he was falling apart, but the energy it would take to do that was more than he had at the moment. “Just… give me a moment.”

Rocket sighed, looking up at Drax. “I’ve got this, okay? Go… do something somewhere else.” Drax nodded and left, shooting Peter one more worried look, and Peter braced himself for Rocket’s version of a pep talk. If he was lucky, the insults might be enough to distract him from everything else.

Surprisingly, though, Rocket started off by not saying anything at all. He just set Groot down in his lap, where the little guy immediately came closer and stretched his arms out along Peter’s stomach like he wanted to give him a hug but his arms weren’t big enough. Peter, eyes stinging and throat going tight, carefully laid a hand against Groot’s back. “Thanks,” he managed.

Groot nodded, not letting go. “I am Groot.”

“Just be careful letting him do that when he gets bigger. I’m still not sure he understands that we mammals have bones that can break if we get squeezed too hard.” Rocket’s voice was oddly gentle, at least for Rocket, and he met Peter’s eyes with a sigh. “You are pretty damn depressifying right now, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Peter couldn’t even defend himself. If he could have chosen not to feel like shit right now, he absolutely would have. “Maybe it’ll help if you shut the door.”

“It doesn’t. I think it’s actually leaking out through the walls.” He tilted his head, studying Peter. “You’ve been rejected by ape-ladies before. This didn’t happen.”

He sounded genuinely curious, and so Peter struggled for the words to try and answer him honestly. “That was just sex. With Gamora, it’s…” He hesitated, not finding anything useful in any of the TV shows he could remember. There, the girl and the guy always seemed to love each other, even if they were terrible at saying it. Here in reality, the girl felt that the guy wanting to date her seriously was the worst possible thing that could ever happen. “…it’s like you saw the greatest thing ever, and you wanted to steal it more than anything. You wanted it so much you didn’t even want to sell it – you’d just keep it with you, it was that great.”

Rocket looked skeptical. “Nothing’s greater than money.”

“This is, okay?” Peter snapped. “It’s… it’s everything. It makes you happy just being close to it. And so you plan the heist, and you’re scared but you know you want the thing more than you want to not be scared. And so you do the heist, and it’s great, and you’re so close it’s like an inch away from your fingertips.” He swallowed. “And then the thing disappears, because it doesn’t _want_ you to have it, and the guards come out and shoot you dead.”

“That’s a terrible meta-whatever,” Rocket countered. “It doesn’t even make any sense.” Still, his expression had gentled. “Listen, Quill. I know you’ve got all those stories where everything works out and people sail off in loveboats and talking ships. For some of us, though, the story _always_ ended with death and misery and tiny cages.”

Peter sighed. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t complain, because other people’s lives suck worse than mine.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, you moron.” Rocket whacked him on the leg. “What I’m _saying_ is that for some of us, something good happening is just about the scariest fucking thing we can think of. We don’t trust whatever it is, because we know it’ll go to shit the minute we let our guard down. So maybe we run away in the middle of the night.” He leaned forward, emphasizing each word like he thought Peter had gone deaf. “Do you understand what I’m saying now?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to look skeptical. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that Gamora freaked out and ran away because she _wanted me_ too much?”

Rocket glared at him. “Don’t you dare try to make me say those words in that order. I will bite you.”

Peter sighed. “That still sounds like something _I_ would come up with. While drunk.”

Groot pulled back a little to look up at him. “I am Groot.”

“Don’t give him ideas.” Now Rocket scrubbed his hands across his face. “Look, I can’t handle this whole comforting and supportive thing any more. Come help me rewire a couple of panels so I can insult your terrible engineering skills and you can shoot down all my genius ideas.”

Well, it wasn’t like he had a better option. Moving Groot to his shoulder, Peter made himself stand up. “I think you meant to say ‘insane’ instead of ‘genius.’”

Peter was sure he only imagined the look of relief that crossed Rocket’s face. “You keep telling yourself that.”


	10. Chapter 10

Though it wasn't the kind of sentence he liked to say out loud, Rocket had been right about one thing - busy work was Peter's best chance to keep from going crazy. So, when the ship repairs ran out, and the arguing with Rocket started getting a little too physical - no amount of heartbreak was enough to distract Peter from the fact that giving the Milano a gun _bigger than the ship_ would be a supremely bad idea - he turned to cleaning. Even after Rocket, Groot and Drax had given up and gone to bed, Peter was still sitting at the back of the Milano going through the stack of junk he'd gathered. It all went into one of three piles - the stuff worth keeping, the stuff Rocket could do something dangerous with, and the stuff that really was junk.

He was sitting back here to take advantage of the planet's breeze, and possibly the fact that pitching the junk onto the ground outside was the easiest way to get rid of it. The fact that Gamora _still_ wasn't hom— back on the ship had absolutely nothing to do with it.

_"Seriously, Quill, this is tragic."_

_"I have no idea what you're talking about."_

_"I don't know how you ever thought you were a good liar. You’re so bad Drax could give you lessons.”_

He _was_ a good liar. Just... not in this one area.

Peter knew, though, that he was going to have to figure something out. Even Peter was smart enough to know he couldn’t lose this – despite the heartbreaking lack in one particular area, this team was still the best thing he’d ever had. After tonight, he was going to have to figure out how to pack all this up and put it away so he and Gamora didn’t keep tripping over it.

And he _would_ , really. Tomorrow. When Gamora was back on the—

His head jerked up when he heard the quiet sound of footsteps – there _were_ people still interested in killing them – and Peter’s heart lodged somewhere in his throat when he met Gamora’s eyes. She’d gone absolutely still, as if he was some enemy about to leap out at her, and his chest twisted with equal measures of relief and misery as he ducked his head back down. He fixed his eyes on whatever the hell he was holding, pretending to be deeply interested, and planned to wait until she walked past him and inside the ship.

But there was only silence, finally broken by the sound of her voice. “Qui—“ She cut herself off, then took a deep breath. “Peter.”

Peter closed his eyes. Damn it, he could handle anything but her being _nice_. “It’s okay.” His voice sounded like an army had marched across his throat, but there was nothing he could think of that would make it any better. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. Things can go back to the way they were.”

She still didn’t move. “I can’t lose this, Peter,” she said quietly, the fear he could hear underneath the words scraping at his insides.

Peter forced his eyes open, taking his own deep breath. Hadn’t he just been thinking the _exact_ same thing? “I know.” She looked defiant and impossibly sad, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

That only seemed to make her angry. “You _should_ be sorry. I don’t know what wild thought you got into your head that made you talk about finding a wife, but we both know you didn’t mean it. You don’t get to—“

“Didn’t _mean_ it?!” His own anger rising, Peter surged to his feet. “That’s not what I’m sorry about, you _asshole_! I meant every _single_ damn word I said to you!”

Something flickered across Gamora’s expression that Peter couldn’t read, quickly replaced by furious disbelief. “Don’t lie to me, Peter. You’ve never expressed the slightest interest in spending longer than a night with—“

“Because they weren’t _you_!” He flung the random piece of metal he’d been holding into the distance, then jabbed his now-free hand in her direction. “If anything, this is _your_ fault! You made an entire universe full of women _completely_ boring! I would rather _fight_ with you than have _sex_ with anyone else, and if that’s not a sign that you seriously _broke_ something in me I don’t know what is. I know the thought of me wanting to marry you was so _horrifying_ you had to run off and have sex with some random—”

“I didn’t.”

Peter blinked, thrown. “What?”

“I wasn’t with a sexual companion.” The anger had vanished out of Gamora’s voice, replaced by an intensity that left Peter feeling more disoriented than freefall. “I needed to think. That was all.”

She sounded so urgent, like it was really important that Peter believe her. “I... um... okay. Okay.” He scrubbed his hands across his face, suddenly feeling like he was having trouble breathing. His own anger had vanished the moment hers had, and right then he missed the hell out of it. “I believe you. But you need to believe me that I meant _everything_ I said to you. We don’t ever have to talk about it again, but...” His voice faltered as something inside his chest clenched. “The only two women I’ve ever loved are you and my mom. You don’t get to take that away from me, even if you don’t want it.”

Something spasmed across Gamora’s face, and this time Peter recognized it as pain. “ _Want_ it?” There was something wild in the words. “For most of my life, what I wanted more than anything was not to die. Somewhere deep in my heart, I wanted my family back. It never occurred to me to want the most infuriating man in the _universe_ , the man who can somehow make me smile far more than people who are much, much funnier than he is. I have spent more time than is at all sane studying _your_ smiles, so I know every shift that differentiates the ones that lie from the ones you actually mean. I love your stories, even the ones that make no sense. I want to take the sadness out of your eyes.” Her glare sharpened, voice rising. “And I keep wanting to touch you, but you haven’t kept a sexual partner for longer than a night and I _can’t lose what I have with you_! I have _told_ you this _!_ ”

All Peter could do was stare at her, sheer shock having melted his brain at some point during her speech. That.... It.... She.... He stepped forward in a daze, ready to cross the distance and just plant one on her, but his self-preservation instinct pointed out that she was feeling fragile enough that there was a pretty good chance she’d stab him if he tried that. Or at least punch him.

Not that she probably wouldn’t end up punching him anyway, at least occasionally, because he was kind of an idiot and neither of them were great at talking about their feelings. But it turned out he wasn’t as terrible at learning as he’d thought, at least when it mattered, and Gamora mattered more than anything had in a really, _really_ long time.

So he took a deep breath, heart hammering so loudly he was amazed she couldn’t hear it. “If I was ever dumb enough to try and walk away from you, I’d _want_ you to stab me because that would be clear proof I was too stupid to live.” Gamora’s expression was raw, open in a way he’d never seen it before, and Peter’s chest ached even as the hope made it hard to breathe. “Trust me, Gamora. Please.”

They stood there a moment like that, the rest of the world – other than Peter’s heart, which clearly had no sense of drama – gone utterly silent. Then Gamora crossed the distance between them in a few decisive strides, grabbed the front of Peter's shirt, and kissed the hell out of him.

It was... it....

Listen. When Peter was a kid, he had always thought that movies had big epic songs playing over kissing scenes as a kind of apology to the audience. Though he’d later realized how much fun kissing was to participate in, even his fully grown-up, sexually active self had to admit that it was pretty damn boring to look at. Music was great, and so the movie people had added it to the kiss scenes to keep them watching until something interesting happened again.

As his arms tightened around Gamora, though, he realized that he’d been completely, totally, 100 percent _wrong_ about why the music was there. All those movie scenes had just been trying to show what _actually happened_ , if you were lucky enough be kissing exactly the right person. It was like all the best songs he’d ever heard rolled into one, coming from Gamora and thrumming straight through him like he was being used as a speaker. Later, when he could actually think again and all of this would occur to him, he’d feel bad for everyone who never got to hear the music for themselves.

Now, though, all his attention was on Gamora. He couldn’t read her expression when they broke apart, and for just a second it was enough to stop his heart. Then a smile slowly blossomed across her face, starting his heart again, and he pulled her into his arms and held on for dear life.

She tightened her arms around him. “I won’t stab you anywhere fatal,” she murmured after a moment, sounding pleased with the universe as a whole. “That will give you a chance to reflect on your terrible choices and realize you shouldn’t leave me.”

Peter grinned, chest tight with happiness. “I can work with that.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd asked me six months ago which of my fic I was least likely to ever finish, I'd have picked this one. I have to say, I'm happy to be wrong.
> 
> And once again, a huge shout-out to each and every person who left (or leaves) a comment on this fic. Without you, this fic would be four chapters long and last updated in 2014. If the site let me hand kudos back out to each and every one of you, I totally would.

_A few weeks later...._

Peter groaned, not lifting his head from the scarred surface of the table. Normally, he might be slightly concerned about a bar with the kind of clientele that could scar a metal table, but right now he was in too much pain to care. His entire body felt like one big bruise, and this time it wasn’t even his _fault_. “No more dating advice from you, Drax. This is now an official Milano rule.”

“But you did so well, Quill!” Drax’s voice was hearty as he slammed a hand down on the table, hard enough to make Peter wince. “The monster wasn’t very big, it was true, but I chose it because I know you are a weak and puny human. It still counts.”

“Its teeth were the _size of my head_.” He lifted his head to glare at Drax, who as always didn’t seem to register or care that it was happening. “And all of you just _stood_ there.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t just standing there,” Rocket cut in, eyes still on the video that was playing on the device in his hand. He sniggered. “This is comedy _gold_. It would have been a _crime_ not to record it for posterity.”

Groot, the tiny traitor, was watching it as well. “I am Groot.”

Drax, for his part, just looked appalled. “That is an important part of the courtship, Quill! If you did not defeat the creature on your own, how could you prove your worthiness as a mate to Gamora?”

“I have found his foot rubs to be very persuasive,” Gamora cut in, her voice warmly amused. Peter considered being annoyed that she was clearly laughing at his pain – though more politely than everyone else – but the way she was rubbing his neck felt really, _really_ good. “I don’t believe we will need any more help with the courtship ritual, Drax.”

He actually _pouted_ , which in this context was a little terrifying. “But we still need to do the flaming gauntlet of—”

“Fire?” Rocket’s head shot up, looking delighted. “I could rig up some-”

“No fire,” Gamora said firmly.

As Rocket and Drax groaned in disappointment – Groot was still too busy watching the video – Peter groaned in relief and slowly lowered his head down onto her shoulder. It meant no more neck rub, but the way she started petting his hair was just as good. “Have I told you how much I love you lately?”

“In this case, I do not mind if you repeat yourself.” Her voice was soft, now, and that was enough to make him feel good all on its own. “Still, you know you didn’t actually have to fight the monster, right? If you’d run away, I’m sure I could have persuaded the rest of the team to follow you.”

Peter’s brain had actually mentioned that to him, at one point, but more in a “hey, maybe this is something we should think about” rather than a “you idiot” kind of way. Peter could admit now that his heart won most of his internal arguments, just like it always had, but these days none of the rest of him minded so much. “I _could_ have, but... well, I didn’t want you to think it didn’t matter to me. I knew you’d save me if I actually got close to dying, and I didn’t want it to seem like I wasn’t _trying_.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “That wasn’t very smart, Peter.” But she kissed the top of his head after she said it, which meant that she loved him anyway despite his lack of intelligence in certain key moments.

Rocket made a gagging noise. “Come on, Groot,” he said, sliding out of the booth and heading to the bar. “Watching these two get all twitterated with each other is probably stunting your growth.”

Drax followed soon after, muttering about puny humans and how easily they bruise, and Peter forced himself to sit up. “I should let you go hit the bar, too,” he said bravely. “I’m pretty sure this place has never even heard of waitresses, and you shouldn’t be denied the chance for booze just because Drax didn’t give me the chance to buy that armor before springing Slappy the Death Monster on me.”

Gamora raised an eyebrow at him. “And so I can coincidentally bring you some alcohol back to the table as well?”

Peter considered the matter. “How much of a chance is there that you’ll have sex with me tonight?”

She made an amused sound. “You don’t worry I’d break you?”

He grinned. “But what a way to go.”

She laughed at that. “If you feel your bruised muscles can handle it, then I would say you are currently at 60 percent.”

Peter sighed, leaning back against the booth. “Then I’d better not risk it. Alcohol makes me very sleepy when I’m in pain.” He waved her toward the bar. “Go. Prove to the bartender that you’re the scariest person in here.”

His gaze followed her as she headed toward the bar, indulging in the sheer pleasure of watching her move, when a Wilameanis girl suddenly stepped into view. She wasn’t that tall, which meant he could still see Gamora over her head, but she was still bouncy enough to be distracting. “You’re Star-Lord, aren’t you?”she asked, sounding excited just to be next to him. “I knew that the really interesting guys went to bars like this, but I didn’t know I’d meet someone who saved the galaxy!”

Pre-Gamora, this would have been the highlight of his week. Now, it just annoyed him. “Yes, I’m Star-Lord. Now I need you to move.” He physically scooted her over about a foot to the left, so she was no longer in his way. “You’re blocking my view.”

She made an offended noise and disappeared at some point, but Peter had completely stopped paying attention. Gamora’s ass should be classified as some sort of weapon, he decided, though admittedly it was less fatal than her enormous sword. He still had her knife in his boot – he’d even managed to use it in the fight with Slappy – and he wondered if it might be a good idea to get her a gun. Something that she could tuck away somewhere, a backup in case she got into a situation where she needed something a little different.

Not that she needed it, of course. There was a Kamodo dude who looked even bigger than the rest of his species looming over her at the moment, everything about his body language making it clear he was trying his best to stir up a little pelvic sorcery. It was equally clear from Gamora’s body language that she couldn’t care less, ignoring him like he wasn’t even there, and it didn’t take too long before the Kamodo guy went from “trying to get laid” to “pissed as all hell.” He grabbed her arm, and Peter started to stand up without even realizing—

—only to sit back down a second later, when Gamora whipped out a knife and stabbed the guy’s other hand into the surface of the bar. He yelped, the bartender didn’t even blink, and Gamora quelled any friends the guy had with a glare before calmly reclaiming her knife, collecting her drink, and heading back to the table.

When she got back to the table, she raised an eyebrow at Peter’s grin. “Enjoy the show?” she asked lightly, sitting back down next to him and scooting in as close as possible.

Aches forgotten, Peter slid an arm around her shoulders. “Pretty sure it’s going to become my favorite.”

Gamora rolled her eyes, but it was the little smile he paid attention to. “Good to know you consider bodily injury to be a romantic gesture.”

Chest warm, he pressed a kiss against her cheek. “From you I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my posts and original short fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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